


From the Fire

by Ultimatum



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Healing and Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 20:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13489029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultimatum/pseuds/Ultimatum
Summary: His father no longer controls his fate.So why does he still feel like he's trapped in a cage?





	From the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I recently rewatched atla and got emotional over Zuko's arc again. The comics w his mother really struck me too, and it got me thinkng about how he may deal with having to fill the same position as Ozai did.
> 
> anyway, enjoy!

Zuko can’t possibly count the number of things he hates himself on his fingers. He’d probably need every hand in the Fire Nation to accomplish that. Despite getting what he always wanted, a homecoming, Zuko hates to admit that he’s still unhappy. Unbearable so, at times.

He’s better than he used to be, leagues better, but the nagging hatred at the back of his mind is compulsory and begetting of reason. So at night, when he jolts awake from nightmare after nightmare, he seethes with exhaustion and shame.

 _You even have your mother back, what else could you possibly want_?

He really isn’t sure. Is he being selfish at this point, wishing for happiness? Maybe he doesn’t deserve it, after all he’s done. Yeah. Maybe he just doesn’t deserve it.

Zuko’s nightmares are a mixed grab-bag of reality and his more persistent fears. The past haunts him, from the Agni Kai with his father and the blinding pain that brought him to the torturous memories of betraying his uncle, to hurting his friends, to being left behind by Mai, by his Mother, by everyone, until he’s all all all all alone again.

Those nightmares are the worst for him: he wakes up burning and burning and _crying_ until he can’t stand it any longer. Those nights, he stalks from his room, back straight, and is trailed by his guards to the training room.

Someone will ask if he’s okay, but he doesn’t betray his stoic mask. He unleashes flame after flame until he can’t feel the heat anymore. Maybe, he thinks, if he does this enough, he can cleanse himself of the fire that had once nearly destroyed the world and himself.

If any of the Kyoshi warriors have heard him crying at night, they don’t mention it. For that, he’s grateful.

The voice in his head supplies that it’s probably because he’s a failure of a Fire Lord and that they’ve probably just given up on him. He snuffs the voice out, but the question burns within him afterwards all the same.

And if anyone notices that he’s avoiding his mother, they also don’t mention it. 

\--

Weeks later, Fire Lord Zuko welcomes his old friends in his home for a few weeks. It’s been almost a year since he’s seen Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Toph, so he welcomes them to the palace, more excited than he’s been in a long time. 

Their first good look at Zuko in months has Katara pulling a face and Sokka knitting his eyebrows together.

“What happened to you?” Sokka says before he can stop himself. Katara elbows him in the side with a pointed look. “Ow!”

Zuko hasn’t looked at his reflection in a while, too afraid of seeing his father in his place, so he isn’t too sure what Sokka means. But if his sleepless nights are anything to go by, he probably looks as haggard as he feels. 

“Nothing,” he replies, his voice soft and complacent. “Just a few sleepless nights. I’ve been busy.”

Katara and Aang exchange glances, but no more is said on the matter, because Toph gets impatient and demands a group hug, and Zuko is immediately pulled into a fierce and loving embrace, surrounded by his friends.

He hates that he flinches and jolts at the contact at first, and he hopes none of them noticed. Once he lets himself relax into it, however, he releases a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding and allows himself some reprieve from his thoughts.

These are his friends. They’re here. They accept him.

That’s all that matters.

\--

Except it always has to be more complicated with Zuko. As he lays in bed that night, he curses himself for not being able to articulate himself to his friends. It’s obviously always been an issue for him to express himself, especially when he was a child, but now, it feels magnified, his inability staggering. 

As a , he was “stuttering Zuzu” or sometimes “that lisping child”. He worked hard to get over it (especially the lisp) but he remembers his Father’s rage and violence towards him for it. The fear wormed its way into his heart, and now, the mere thought of not articulating himself properly makes him—

_Father p-please I’ll speak clearer I’ll--_

When Katara first heard him lisp, she said she thought it was cute, that it made him less scary. But for him, it represents something greater. It represents part of his failure as the Fire Lord.

If he can’t even speak properly, what does that say about how he’ll rule as an “orator” of the fire people? 

He shoves his face into his pillow and sighs into it, willing himself to sleep. He doesn’t want to worry his friends any more than he already has, and the exhaustion tugging at his body is almost too much for him to handle.

Before falling into a fitful sleep, he imagines being able to confide in his friends. He imagines telling them all of his heartache and suffering. He imagines that they’d accept him still, hold him, and tell him things would be alright.

He imagines that he could put his emotions into words properly the first time he spoke.

He imagines that this shame stewing within him would complete its metamorphosis into something he could be proud of. 

\--

A few days later, he’s sitting by the pond and feeding bread to the little turtle ducks when he hears someone sit beside him. Without looking, he can feel it’s his mother, her presence immediately soothing to him. At the same time, he feels overwhelming shame crawl into his throat at what he knows he’s done.

After all, he’d been ignoring her for weeks because of his own silly issues.

“Zuko.”

She gently lays a hand on his shoulder, and in his exhausted state, he jolts a bit at the sudden contact. His mother immediately removes her hand from him and the silence stretches on for an indeterminate amount of time.

Zuko knows he needs to be the one to break it. But he can’t. He knows he isn’t his father, he knows he’s a better man than that wretch ever could be, but the doubt and hatred linger under his skin like an inheritance. Poison. He was poisoned by that toxic man and he couldn’t—shouldn’t burden his mother any more than he already has.

It was a lot, asking Ursa to transplant back to the palace. He’s already put a ton of weight on her. This? He can control this.

So instead of answering her, instead of giving her the explanation he owes her, Zuko stands and turns away.

Too afraid of his own shadow, like a scared child, Zuko locks himself in his room for the rest of the day and ignores the worried glances the Kyoshi warriors give him when he passes them in the hall. He’s fine. He’ll be okay.

His father no longer controls his fate.

So why does he still feel like he’s stuck in a cage?

\--

He’s roused by the clinking of plates and glasses from the first restful sleep he’s had in a long while. Without unburying his face from his pillow, he knows who sits at his bedside in an instant.

“Uncle. Why’re you here?”

“It seems my nephew has come down with a sickness of the soul. I’m here to remedy that with a nice hot cup of tea.”

Zuko lifts his head up and looks at Iroh, who’s pouring him a cup of fresh tea. At the small smile Iroh gives him, Zuko feels his expression pinch. How long has it been since he’s seen his Uncle? Months, at least. Too long. Feeling like a child instead of the man he _should_ be, Zuko (careful of the hot tea pot) leans over to embrace the man who’s only ever supported him.

Even when he’s pathetic and sorry, like he is now. 

Zuko hides his face in iroh’s neck and breathes. “It’s good to see you, Uncle.”

“And you too, Fire Lord Zuko. Now, let me get a good look at you.”

Iroh sets down his tea and gently grabs at Zuko’s shoulders, holding him so they’re looking into each other’s eyes. He makes a humming sound and sighs. “Oh, Nephew. Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

And just like that, Zuko knows that the man has been able to read him like an open book. He licks his lips and suddenly feels twenty years older than he is. Unable to bear looking at his worried Uncle any longer, Zuko hastily looks away and makes an aborted shrug at his question.

“Who told you?” Zuko asks instead of answering. He already has his suspicions, at least. His friends _have_ been in the fire nation for an awfully long time after all.

“You know the answer to that already,” Iroh answers, and Zuko nods. “You’re lucky to have such caring friends, Zuko. I’m glad someone told me about this, since you decided to stay silent about your turmoil.”

Unable to deny it any longer and with the pain in his chest ever-present, Zuko grimaces. “I’m sorry, Uncle. I just… Didn’t…”

The words escape him. Why didn’t he tell his Uncle he was experiencing a decline? Was he ashamed? Yes. But was that all? Zuko tries to explain himself but comes up short with reasons that don’t sound self-absorbed.

“It’s alright, I’m here now.” Iroh hands him the cup of tea and motions for him to drink it. “Why don’t we talk after you sleep some more? I have a feeling there’s a lot you need to get out, Nephew. But that talking can wait until you have rested your body.”

“But I have some meetings—”

“Which _I_ will attend in your place. You can’t let yourself go on like this. It’ll eat you alive.”

Zuko closes his eyes, knowing Iroh is right. He takes a long sip of his tea and Iroh lets out a sudden bout of his jovial old-man laughter. “Zuko! I must tell you about what happened at my tea shop last month before I leave you to rest. It was the most—”

He listens, letting Iroh’s words wash over him, guilt flooding him, aware he didn’t let the man know he was going through such a rough time. His heart clenches painfully with the knowledge that he still came to help regardless. He also burns with a love for his friends, who cared enough to send the help he needed instead of trying to pry it from him themselves.

When Iroh leaves him to sleep, he feels his limbs sink blissfully back into the bed. Maybe he’ll be able to sleep, maybe he _can_ get better. It may be too much to ask, but he hopes this feeling of calm can last.

\--

Zuko dreams once more of fire. He’s sitting in front of his father, a hand laid heavy on his shoulder. Azula’s voice is floating through the air, _Dad’s gonna kill you Dad’s gonna kill you_.

He heaves and heaves when the hand grips him tightly. “No, no, please, Father, I’m sorry—”

Fire sears into him as Ozai shakes him in anger.

“I promise I-I’ll be better I—”

Zuko jolts awake to the pleading sound of his Uncle’s voice, drifting to him gently but urgently. “Nephew, it’s only a dream.”

He sits upright and scrambles back away from the hand, forcing himself against the headboard. Eyes wild, he searches frantically for his father, heart still pounding, Azula’s voice pounding in his temples.

_He’s going to kill me he’s going to kill me he’s going to kill_

“Zuko!” Iroh’s voice is firm and sudden, and Zuko hates the small whine that bubbles from his throat at the sudden pitch. He’s supposed to be an adult, not this cowardly thing, not this damaged _child_.

He forces a deep breath, threading his fingers through his shaggy hair to tug. His Father can’t get him here, he’s bendless, he’s in prison, he’s okay. Shyly, Zuko peeks through his hair at Iroh, who looks stern. But solemn.

Zuko is glad he can’t sense pity in that expression. He doesn’t know what he’d do if the only father he’d ever known saw him as a weak and pitiable thing.

Slowly, Zuko uncoils himself and sighs. “Sorry you had to. See that, Uncle.”

Iroh closes his eyes and tilts his head down. His face and voice is strained when he speaks. “Some wounds don’t heal or scar. They stay open. For a long, long time.”

Zuko gazes down at his fingers, slowly clenches and unclenches his hands, and hums. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

There’s a tense moment of silence before Iroh takes a deep breath. “I just wish… You could have confided to me sooner about this. Are nightmares the biggest issue you’re having, right now?”

And crap, here’s the “emotional talk” he’s been dreading. Zuko looks away, hoping Iroh can’t sense the distress building up inside of him. “Yes. I guess. I dunno. Maybe not.”

“Hm.” Iroh sits himself on the side of Zuko’s bed, groaning as he relaxes against the mattress. “Maybe we should start with why you’re avoiding Ursa. Is it connected to the nightmares you’ve been having?”

Zuko shrugs. “Kind of.”

“How so?”

“I…” Zuko’s brain thinks about the ways he could go about explaining himself, but each way feels more exposing than the last. He doesn’t like being so… Open about these things. Abandoning his word-vomit on his nightmares and fears, Zuko instead settles on, “I feel like I’m becoming like _him_.”

“Like… Ozai?” Iroh’s confusion is apparent, and Zuko feels bitterness rise up like bile.

“Yes.”

“But—”

“Don’t tell me you can’t see the resemblance,” Zuko fumes, his mouth twisting downward. “I fulfilled my destiny, I thought I’d changed, but I’m still the same as I was back then: cowardly. And anxious to do what’s right. But what if I can’t do what’s right? What if I… become something worse?”

“Oh, Zuko.” Iroh breaths, his eyes turning properly sad. Zuko huffs, trying to push down his sadness, to make himself look calmer than he feels. It doesn’t work. At all. “You will never, ever, become like that man.”

“But how can you be so sure?” He shoots back, anger replacing his sadness. “People change, Uncle, _I_ could change!”

“You will not. Zuko, I don’t think you understand how pure your heart is—”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

:”—How strong you have been to endure your pain thus far—”

“Uncle, please—”

“—Have faith in yourself, my Nephew—”

Zuko feels the tears coming, and begs them to disappear before he starts sobbing. But his wishes don’t work, and the first tear that rolls down his cheek breaks the dam.

“I don’t want to hurt my mother too,” He croaks, suddenly sobbing in short bursts. “I’m so afraid that I’ll fail my nation and fail her, too. I’m already messing it up.”

Slowly, Iroh guides Zuko to his chest and wraps his arms around Zuko’s back. He rubs soothing circles between his shoulder blades, a crushing sadness weighing on his chest. This boy, this man, this hardworking, honor-filled man, reduced to tears over a monster who should no longer have any say in his life. Iroh feels his blood boil at the thought.

“You aren’t messing anything up, Zuko. Does the bull-fish swimming in the river blame himself for the tide? You’re growing, my Nephew. And you never cease to make me proud.”

“How can you say that, after everything I’ve done? I’ve neglected my friends, my mother, my _duty_ \--”

“You are sick, Fire Lord Zuko.” Iroh states confidently, “And you must first repair yourself before you can repair the relationships you hvae. They’ll forgive you, for your past has kept you tethered to a painful path. And everyone understands that. Your friends do. Ursa, as well.”

“But… How do I fix myself? I don’t even know where I’d start.”

Iroh feels a small hopeful smile pull at his lips. “You’ve already started, my Nephew. For years, you’ve been working on yourself. Now, all that’s left is to open up to those close to you. Only then, through baring your soul to others, will you feel more comfortable in your own skin.”

Zuko rubs at his eyes, feeling the pounding in his head increase. He tightens his grip around his Uncle and goes quiet. Iroh just holds him.

He doen’t feel ready. But if Iroh believes in him, he’ll do it.

“I’m worried it won’t come out right,” he whispers.

“If your heart feels this strongly about it all, there’s no wrong way to say it, Nehphew.”

Zuko lets himself be held as he thinks.

\--

The first one he talks to is Katara.

He spots her waterbending in the courtyard and beckons her over. The water she has suspended in the air is swiftly directed back under the grates, and she walks to him with a soft smile.

“Zuko! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

The guilt comes back full-force and he grimaces. “Yeah. I know. That’s actually what I wanted to… Er… Talk. About. With you.” He scratches the back of his neck, awkwardly hoping he’s doing this right and Katara even WANTS to listen.

His worries are dispelled when Katara’s eyes go curious and gentle. “Of course. Want to go somewhere more private?”

“Uh, sure, we can go back to my quarters.”

They begin the trek towards his private room in near-silence, other than the intermittent chatter and updates between them. He learns reconstruction in the South is going along nicely and that she’s found other Southern Water Tribe members during her travels around the globe. It makes him glad that, at least, his people haven’t completely doomed her culture.

They reach his room and sit on his bed; Zuko’s heart pounds at the notion of sharing his emotions, but he has to do this, he _needs_ to. So he blurts, “I’ve been having nightmares.”

Katara frowns. “Yeah. I know… The Kyoshi warriors told me when we first came back here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Sorry, we didn’t mean to pry, but we were worried. Zuko, what’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath and steels himself. “My Uncle he, uh, told me that I’m experiencing a sort of… Emotional constipation I guess. And my memories are poisoning me.” Katara nods, so he tries to continue. “So if it’s okay with you… I’d like to tell you about my history. You know some, of course, but not all, and maybe… I’m messing this up.” He runs a hand through his hair once more. “I just thought… If you’re alright with it, I’d like to tell you about my childhood.”

Katara nods her head and reaches out a hand to hold his. It’s comforting and he’s reminded that she cares, he has friends who _care_ and it’s incredible.

So he begins his story.

\--

Afterwards, he feels spent and shaky, but his heart feels lighter, like a weight was taken off of it. Very few people knew the full story, the horrors, of his childhood. Katara had listened diligently to it, about his fears of becoming like Ozai, and had dispelled the notion immediately.

It made him calmer to know the woman who had once hated his guts accepted him and trusted him, now, to not become like the men who ruined her childhood.

Invigorated by the power of his words and the freedom of telling his story, Zuko hastens to find his Mother to apologize to her. He finds her back where they met last: at the pond with the turtle ducks.

He sits down beside her like she did before and the oppressive silence makes Zuko question himself. Is he making the right decision? What if she hates him now?

Forcing himself to say something, Zuko closes his eyes and tries not to clench his jaw. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’m so sorry for ignoring you when you’re in a place that brings you so much pain.”

Ursa looks over at him and bites her lip. “Oh, Zuko… I forgive you, of course I do. I’m just worried. I’ve heard that you’ve been having nightmares, and you look so _tired_.”

She reaches up to cup his cheek, and at his little flinch, she takes her hand away, a hurt expression flickering over her face.

Zuko curses himself. “You deserve an explanation.”

He forces himself to take comfort in holding her hand, and at her imploring nod, he begins.

“I’ve been having dreams about… Ozai. About my childhood. In some dreams, he’s hurting me, in some, he’s killing you.” Zuko gulps. “In some, I’m the one hurting you.”

Ursa’s eyebrows furrow, and she looks like she wants to say something, but she lets Zuko go on. 

“I’m… Terrified. That I’ll turn into Father one day. That I’ll only hurt you. I’m not the same kid I was all those years ago, and I don’t know if I’m a son you can be proud of.”

Once he’s done, Ursa immediately springs into her rebuttal. “Zuko, you will _Never_ be like your Father. You’re a gentle man, a kind, thoughtful spirit. Your past actions alone are proof enough. You helped the avatar, you betrayed Ozai; even the bravest of warriors wouldn’t have done what you did.”

“But… How can you tell that I won’t turn into him one day?”

“I’m your mother, Zuko.” She smiles and it’s the best sight Zuko has ever seen. “Trust me when I say that I need you in my life. And trust me when I saw you will never ever become your Father, or hurt me like he did.”

He mulls that over for a moment, but Ursa ploughs on. “And I should be the sorry one. Sorry that I forgot about you and started a new life without you. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret not being there for you, even if I was forbidden to return.”

Zuko feels his eyes water for what feels like the millionth time that day. “No. Never be sorry for what Father did for you.”

“But it wasn’t just me he hurt.” 

Zuko doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“Maybe…” Ursa rubs circles into his hands. “We should both let go of this guilt together. What do you say?”

He nods. “That sounds good.”

They go quiet and Zuko’s mind replays every self-hating thought he’s ever had. Why he’s a failure because of Ozai. Why he’s pathetic because of Ozai. Why he’s—

Zuko exhales and lets the hate drain from him like the air is carrying his sorrow far, far away. 

\--

After, he goes up to the Kyoshi warriors guarding his room and bows deeply. “Thank you for watching over me. And thank you for notifying my friends about how I was doing. I wouldn’t have gotten better without the help.”

Suki smiles and nods. Zuko feels like he’s flying when he leaves.

\--

Iroh sees him later that night after he’s made his rounds to Toph, Aang, and Sokka. He’d held it together around them, but sharing his past got easier each time, and he felt less like he was reciting a list of mistakes and more like he was regaling a sad tale of the past. He thanked them for sending Iroh to help. He told them he owed them for his progress.

“You look better, Fire Lord Zuko.” Iroh grins at him. “Would you like some tea before you rest tonight? I’ll brief you in on the meeting you missed today.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” Zuko says with the most fondness he can possibly put into his voice. _For everything_ , is what he wants to say.

Iroh laughs good-naturedly. “Zuko, tea is not that hard to brew! No need to thank me!”

Zuko smiles and grabs his cup to takes a sip. They both know without any more words what Zuko is thanking him for. But now, he’s done spilling his guts.

That night, he dreams. But not of fire.


End file.
